Butterfly Effect
by Center of the Galaxy
Summary: Maybe, in some other universe, things could've been different, but as it stood right now, Sam was going to bleed out on this abandoned highway. *Endverse AU, one-shot, hurt!Sam*


_**Author's Note: **__AU set during "The End" universe. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_I wanted to make you proud_

_But I just got in your way."_

—_Lifehouse, "Good Enough"_

* * *

"We cannot thank you enough." The woman smiles gratefully as he hands her the loaf of bread, a precious commodity. He doesn't say anything—he hasn't really talked since he woke up here, not because he can't but because he hasn't trusted his voice not to break—but nods his head. Her daughter hides behind her ripped jeans, her green eyes peeking out.

"Thank you." The daughter echoes.

"Is there anything we can do?" He shakes his head. He learned that asking questions only led to trouble. He's had people shoot at him for no apparent reason. Angry mobs had prevented him from coming into safe areas. Monster, they called him. Abomination. Devil spawn. He didn't know why people seemed to turn on him.

Maybe the end of the world had something to do with it. He suppresses a grim chuckle because yeah, that can elicit anger from people. But still, as long as he stayed alive until he achieved his goal, it didn't matter what people thought of him.

"Are you sure?" The woman presses as he begins to walk away from the old shack that he had found for them. They'd been under attack when he'd found them, though he couldn't be sure what from. An exorcism hadn't worked. Neither had holy water. He'd been ready to fire off a few rounds when the creatures had seen him. They'd back off immediately, as if they were scared of him.

Why, though?

Why, him?

"You sure, sir?" She gestures to the vast expanse of empty road that he's moving down. "There's nothing but Croats out there—"

"I'm fine." His voice is rusty and gruff. He shoots her a grin. "I've been on this road before."

Sitting shotgun with his brother by his side, listening to Metallica as the Impala sped on.

That's the road he wishes he was on now.

* * *

He came to in an abandoned warehouse with a lazy sun above him and a cloudless blue sky. The last memory he had was Jessica by his side, warm arms wrapped around his chest as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. Then . . . nothing.

Jessica and Stanford . . . that had been years ago, apparently. The school was nothing more than ruins now and Jessica was dead. He'd found out by stumbling across her grave—her name barely visible on the stone and the grass on the grave overgrown. It had taken all his strength to leave and find a reason to keep going.

But that reason had been simple—his brother.

He has no idea what happened to the world in-between then and now. Frankly, he doesn't care. All he cares about is finding his brother. He won't stop or rest or give up until he knows for sure what Dean's fate is. In his bones, he knows his brother is alive, but until he could rest eyes upon him himself, then Sam couldn't stop. The world may have gone to Hell and everyone may be against him, but he wouldn't let that stop him.

He wanders the dusty, monotone landscape searching for a clue, a glimpse or a sign of his brother.

Sam knows he will see him someday.

* * *

It happens suddenly.

He's on the freeway, scavenging rusty, abandoned cars when he hears a rustle on his left. He glances up and his breath stops as he sees the worn leather jacket—the one that smells of gunpowder and sweat, which used to serve as a blanket for him when he was little—and with utter disregard for his own wellbeing, he chases after it.

"Dean!" His voice echoes on the wind and the sounds of footsteps stops. The youngest Winchester sees the familiar figure and stance of his older brother. Finally, finally, he's achieved his objective. "Dean, it is you, right?" His voice breaks as relief hits him like a punch in the gut. "I've been searching—"

He only sees a glimpse of fiery green eyes before pain blossoms in his chest. A muffled bang reaches his ears. Dimly, he realizes that he's been shot. A near fatal blow to his heart and fuck, it burns, just like he remembers gunshots to feel like. His knees buckle and he groans. Dean turns away, but Sam won't be dismissed this easily.

"Dean!" Blood, tacky and warm, rolls down his shirt. His body screams for him to stop, but Sam keeps pushing. He didn't come this far to die now. No way, no how. "Dean, please—!" His voice breaks as he goes down. He's prepared to hit his head, but a pair of strong arms pulls his body back up, jarring him slightly.

"Dammit, Sammy." The familiar gruff voice growls in his ear. "I swear if this is some fucking trick—"

"Trick?" Sam echoes, confusion marring his expression. Dean doesn't move him with any of his usual grace or prowess. In fact, Dean's hands are rough with him and the youngest Winchester realizes that his brother is angry with him. No, angry doesn't begin to cover it. Furious, is more like it, with the way his brother refuses to meet his gaze. What exactly did he do wrong? Why couldn't he remember? "Dean, I don't understand—"

"Lucifer, you son of a bitch, just quit messing with me!" His brother howls, dragging him to rusty, blue van on the outskirts of the road. Dean shoves his back up against it and Sam suppresses a moan as the pain sends shockwaves through his system. His brother's never been this rough with him before, furious or otherwise.

"Lucifer?" The Devil? What did that have to do with anything? Had Dean hit his head? That would explain why he was confusing Sam for Satan. "I think you hit your head. Sit down."

That catches Dean off-guard. His older brother freezes, his hand over above Sam's forehead.

"What did you just say?" His voice is quiet now, unusually so. It actually disconcerts the youngest Winchester.

"You're not acting like yourself," Sam continues, trying to ignore the way his chest feels like it's on fire and how his heart pounds furiously. The rest of his body is frozen and he feels like he's floating somewhere. Must be shock, he realizes dimly. "Just . . . let me take a look at you." He reaches a bloody hand out and he sees the anger dissolve from his brother's face immediately.

"Sam?" He questions, almost in awe. "It's you?"

"Who else would it be?" He jokes, trying to summon a smile. He opens his mouth to say something else when his brother pulls him in for a bone-crushing hug. The physical contact after so many months of travelling alone numbs the pain. This is what he's been searching for, this is why he kept fighting.

"Fuck, Sam." Dean notices the blood now and the bullet. "I shot you." His older brother runs a hand through his hair and curses loudly. "Stay with me, okay?" Dean rips off a piece of his shirt and quickly presses in on the wound to try and stop the bleeding. The white material turns crimson in a matter of seconds. "Shit." Another strip and this one stays white a bit longer.

"What happened, Dean?"

"Huh?" His brother is too busy trying to get the upper hand on the blood that seems to be pouring out of him.

"What happened here? I was at Stanford—"

"You don't remember?" Dean's gaze is locked onto his. His eyes filled with childlike fascination and it almost makes Sam want to look away from embarrassment. He settles for shaking his head instead. "The Apocalypse. I'll go into everything when I get you back to camp and we get this wound stabilized—"

It's a chest wound though and Sam has a strong suspicion that were no nearby hospitals. Dean couldn't patch this wound up. It was a miracle the youngest Winchester was even still conscious given the amount of blood he lost.

"Dean . . ." He lets out a shuddery breath as the floating feeling gives way to dizziness. "I can't—"

"No." Dean grinds out, voice strong like steel. "No, I am getting you out of here. You're going to be fine, you hear me?" A comforting hand is placed on Sam's shoulder and he leans into the touch. He's missed his brother more than he's realized. "Just stay with me."

"Kay."

Dean works in silence for a few moments and Sam does his best not to drift, but suddenly, it's become hard to hold onto his thoughts. They, like him, seem to be floating away. Why couldn't he feel his body anymore? Why did Dean seem so worried?

Who was Lucifer?

"D'n?" Was this his voice? So slurred and oh so weak?

"Yeah, Sammy?" Tears in Dean's eyes and Sam knows that he's going to die here. Funny, he doesn't have any regrets. He found what he was looking for and sure, he'd like to live, but in this life, dying with your brother by your side was better than most hunters got.

"S'okay."

"I shot you."

"S'okay, D'n—"

"No!" Dean roars at the sky. "I thought you were still him and I didn't know, Sam, you have to know that I wouldn't have shot you if I had known!" A lone tear snakes down his older brother's cheek and he wipes it away furiously. "Sam, please, don't do this to me."

"M'sorry." He breathes.

"I can't do this alone again, Sammy."

Sam wants to ask what "this" is. He wants to know what happened, but his vision blacks out and he knows that his time is up. He fumbles for his brother's calloused hand and holds it within his. He can hear his brother's voice, but it's distant and faint. Sam's floating again and he allows himself to fall. The deck had been stacked too high against them. Maybe things could've been different if he had made different choices, but what was the point in wondering about that? Fate had dealt him his hand and he'd lost.

Body slumped; blood staining his shirt, Sam Winchester lets go.

* * *

In another time and place, an angel watches two brothers in the distance. He listens to them bicker about who got to play the music and which type of pie was better. The younger one had lost his girlfriend two weeks ago and the grief still had a claim on him, but the heavenly messenger could see the great efforts his brother went through to bring a smile to his younger sibling's face.

He wondered, as he often did when he was allowed to watch them, what their fate would be. His superiors had seen countless endings for them and, in the hopes of preventing Lucifer from rising, had sent him to observe them. Report back, they told him, but he was unsure what to tell them. That the younger one—Sam—prayed to them every night when he was sure his brother was asleep? That the older one—Dean—secretly arranged for them to visit nearly every library in towns regardless of whether they actually needed the information? What exactly was the key piece of info that his supervisors believed would be the key to the Earth's salvation? And why did he have to observe them? What was the point?

"Dude, I'm telling you," Dean began, an easy smile on his lips. "Pie is the only food you need."

"If you want to die of a heart attack at 30, then yeah, maybe." Sam retorted, a smirk on his lips.

"Fine, you just stick to your rabbit food then." Dean retorted and Sam simply rolled his eyes. Getting into their Impala, they continued their conversation, but the angel didn't strain himself to hear them. It was obvious he wasn't going to get any good information today.

As powerful as angels were, they could not tell the future. Maybe the Apocalypse would occur. Maybe it would not. Perhaps, Sam would perish. Perhaps not. There were so many variables and each could change the course of the universe, as they knew it. For every choice, there was a different path that could be followed and until Heaven's end goal was achieved, the angel would stay and observe these two brothers, however pointless he thought it was.

It was the will of Heaven and as a soldier, he would do as commanded.

"Why though?" He questioned to no one in particular. Why these two brothers? What made them so special? What had his supervisors seen in the others universes that had shaken them to their very being? Yet, it wasn't his place to question and he shrugged. He had his orders to follow, after all. Right now, he needed to report back his daily findings.

And then in a flutter of wings, Castiel was gone.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__This piece was super hard to write and I might tweak it a bit later. Still, I love how it came out and I hope you did too! Please review if you have a second. _


End file.
